


Troppo

by xzombiexkittenx



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xzombiexkittenx/pseuds/xzombiexkittenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the <a href="http://bansheegrahamtao.tumblr.com/post/127569886000/i-want-a-fic-where-will-gets-mildly-injured-like">post by Bansheegrahamtao</a> where Will gets a minor injury and Hannibal massively overreacts. And <a href="http://mean-cannibals.tumblr.com/post/127581516868/bansheegrahamtao-i-want-a-fic-where-will-gets">this one by Mean Cannibals</a> who took the idea a step further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troppo

**Author's Note:**

> For my very first commissioner who wanted to be anon, but also deserves many thanks for bearing with me while I work out the kinks in the system. You're the best. 
> 
> The title means "too much" in Italian music terms.

The problem with Hannibal, Will thinks, is his face.

Well, no. The problem with Hannibal is that he's a cannibalistic serial killer, he let Will become dangerously sick with encephalitis, drove other patients to kill, and is generally the worst. It's one thing to remember that when he's talking about teacups and murder, or actually killing someone. Or eating them. Or any number of other things Hannibal likes to do. On the other hand, it's awfully hard to remember all the terrible things Hannibal is when he's sitting there with stars and hearts in his eyes saying things like, "If I saw you every day for the rest of my life I'd remember this moment forever."

Really, what the hell?

Will thinks about putting his arm through the Botticelli and seeing how Hannibal looks at him then. But there's a security guard glaring at them disapprovingly - not enough art appreciation, too much looking at one another - and of all the ways to get caught, annoying the museum security seems like kind of a let down.

And Will's not even angry any more about the encephalitis, or the inadvertent cannibalism, or setting him up, or Randal Tier...the point is he's not angry. 

Hannibal tucks his sketchbook away and gets to his feet with some degree of effort. Whatever Jack did to him left a mark. Will wants to put his fingers to the scrapes and scratches on Hannibal's face, feel that the damage is real, that Hannibal can be hurt. He doesn't. He wants to, but he doesn't. There's a lot of things he wants to do to Hannibal that he doesn't.

They limp across the plaza together. Hannibal is black and blue from his fight with Jack, the stab wound in his calf must be incredibly painful. Will was thrown off a moving train. He feels like he's been bruised in places he didn't know he had to bruise. The knife he's carrying is heavy in his pocket. He could do it, he could slide the blade in, between Hannibal's ribs, right into his heart. Quickly. Gently. It's less than Hannibal deserves. 

He's reaching towards his pocket when some asshole on a Vespa goes blaring by, clipping Will in the process and knocking him to the ground.

The world tilts in a sickening slide, even though he's lying still. He thinks he might be sick, but then he's unconscious.

x x x

There is blood coming from Will's head and yet Hannibal is the one who can't breathe. He drops to his knees on the street, fumbling for a pulse. He has never fumbled for a pulse in his entire life. Hannibal has never felt this level of panic. Not since...not for a long time.

He can't feel any fractures in Will's neck and he's not going to just let Will lie there on the cold street, so he gets Will into his arms and staggers to his feet. People are staring. Hannibal doesn't care. Will isn't as light as he looks, but Hannibal puts one foot in front of the other until he's at the hospital and the ER staff are rushing to take Will from him. 

Will is whisked away on a gurney and the doors close behind them.

He told Bedelia that he was going to murder and eat Will, but now that Will might be taken from him, the thought of the world without Will in it is repellent. Perhaps eating Will would bring him closure, and allow him to move along with his life. He's starting to think Bedelia might have been wrong about that. If he eats Will, how is he to enjoy him after that?

No matter, he can make those decisions once Will is safely returned to him.

Hannibal has always been very focused. It made him an excellent trauma surgeon. He's so focused on Will that it takes him a second to notice there is a petite Italian woman, no taller than his shoulder, pushing against his chest, trying to stop him from going into the secure area.

"Sir, you need to calm down."

Hannibal hands her his jacket. "I'm a medical doctor and while I have no doubt that your staff is competent, I would prefer to oversee this operation myself. Please get out of my way."

"Sir, please." Her eyes widen as he began unbuttoning his shirt in readiness to change into scrubs."Please don't do that, sir."

"Which O.R. is Will Graham going into?"

The nurse is wringing her hands now, something Hannibal had never actually seen a human being do before until that moment. "I don't know what you're talking about." Her distress is palpable and she glances past him - just for a moment - and Hannibal became aware of someone coming up behind him.

Hannibal turns before the security guard can put his hands on him.

"I am operating, and I will not be delayed any further," Hannibal says. "So get out of my way.

The security guard takes a step back, some small part of his brain recognizing that he is not the biggest threat in the room, whether or not he has a gun. That part of his brain is not as strong as the part that makes him square up to Hannibal.

"I demand to know where you've taken him!" Hannibal says, low and serious. "And if you don't get out of the way, I will make you regret it."

Someone else opens the doors with their key card and Hannibal is through it before anyone can stop him. 

He has his shirt off and is working one-handed on his belt when a doctor nearly runs into him. The doctor looks at him, at the nurse and the security guard coming up behind him, and puts a hand on his arm. Hannibal doesn't throttle her, but it's a close thing.

"I am looking for the O.R. that your people have taken Will Graham to. I'm scrubbing in."

"Did you get lost from ward four?" the doctor asks, professional concern on her face.

"Ward- what? No." Hannibal wonders if there's something wrong with his Italian all of a sudden. It feels like how Will must have felt when he was hallucinating, like he's the only one who sees what's happening and everyone else is wandering around with their wide eyes, blind to his reality.

"Hannibal?" It's Will's voice. Hannibal pulls his arm away from the doctor and rips a curtain back. There Will is, sitting on a bed, upright, as a nurse puts a stiff wrap - used for sprains - on his wrist.

There are three butterfly bandages on his forehead. He looks weary and a little more bruised than he did before but he's alright. He's okay.

Will looks at Hannibal, at the nurse holding his coat, at his lack of a shirt. "What kind of painkillers did you give me?" he asks the nurse who doesn't seem to understand his English. "Hell, I thought the ravenstag was strange. This is a new one."

"Will!" Hannibal exclaims. "You're not in surgery!"

Will refocuses on him. "Oh, you're real." He seems to shake himself a little. "Why would I be in surgery for a bump on the head?" Will asks. "I'm fine. I was barely out for a second." He sounds slightly woozy, judging by the size of his pupils they have given him pain medication. "Why are you taking your clothes off?"

"Do you know this man?" the doctor asks in heavily accented English.

Will looks around at what's going on and sighs. "Yes," he says. "Unfortunately, he's with me."

Hannibal realizes he is shirtless in the hospital halls. With great dignity he takes his coat back.

x x x

Hannibal takes Will back to the apartments he's been staying in with Bedelia. There's no sign of her. She's smarter than that and Will resents he won't get a chance to say something to her. He also is glad he won't get a chance because he's a little afraid it would come out petulant and jealous. He feels jealousy. She's never had to walk through the fire, Hannibal just plucked her up and took her along, as though Will was so easily replaced.

Will knows better now. Hannibal's fear - and frankly massive overreaction - at the hospital proved something to Will. He's not replaceable. He's not safe, no one is ever safe with Hannibal, but if anyone else ever puts a hand on him, he's pretty sure Hannibal's resultant tantrum and homicidal rage would be something to behold.

Hannibal is very gentle with Will now, a little hesitant. They're still on the razor's edge of indecision, neither of them a hundred percent sure what he wants to do with the other. "Do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog?" Hannibal asks, helping him into a chair despite the fact that Will doesn't have a concussion, or a broken leg, or anything else that might require Hannibal's help. 

"Something like it," Will says, as Hannibal rolls up his sleeves. He watches the tanned lines of Hannibal's forearms, and not his face. 

"A scorpion asks for a frog to carry it across a river," Hannibal says. "The frog is reluctant, 'You will sting me,' it says. The scorpion promises it will not and the frog eventually agrees. In the middle of the lake the scorpion stings the frog. 'Now we shall both die!' the frog says. 'Why would you do such a thing?' and the scorpion says, 'I stung you because I am a scorpion, what did you expect?'" He crouches in front of Will and puts his hands on Will's face chin, tilting his face into the light so he can better look at the cut on his head. "What do you expect, Will?"

Will shrugs with one shoulder. "That's not the version I know. My daddy told me the one about the tortoise that carries the scorpion and when the sting comes down, the shell protects it."

"The righteous will be protected from the wicked?" Hannibal asks. He touches Will's stomach then, right over the scar he left Will to remember him by. His hand is warm. Will thinks about pulling up the hem of his shirt so Hannibal can touch the scar, skin to skin, but isn't sure he's ready for that.

"Maybe. The scorpion always apologizes but never regrets what it does."

"It's in its nature." Hannibal's expression is calculating. He's too used to playing his little games, to speaking around the truth. Will supposes he's guilty of encouraging it.

"Maybe the tortoise could forgive anyway. It didn't die, they didn't drown." Will takes the knife out of his pocket and pushes it into one of Hannibal's hands. "So which am I, and which are you? We keep trying to kill each other, but neither can abide an outsider trying their luck."

"I will never apologize for my nature," Hannibal says. He takes Will's face in his hands, both of them, touching Will's cheeks with his thumb, the tips of his fingers tangled in his curls. The knife falls to the carpet, ignored and forgotten.

"Good thing I've got a hard shell," Will says and gently taps his cast against Hannibal's knee. Hannibal's face lights up in that beautiful, awful way it does and Will kisses him. It's too much to look at for too long.


End file.
